


New Rules

by loving-the-stars-themselves (youandmeotp)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Angst, F/M, Lots of Angst, Non-explicit sex in later chapters, Some kind of Earth AU I guess, Use of names Theta and Koschei
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 02:45:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13090761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youandmeotp/pseuds/loving-the-stars-themselves
Summary: Missy and the Doctor have decided that they're going to spend some time away from each other, and Missy tries to get over him. She tries really hard. But it turns out she can't help but let him back in, time and time again, and it hurts her every time.





	New Rules

**Author's Note:**

> A short threeshot inspired by the song "New Rules" by Dua Lipa. Let me know what you think!

_Don't pick up the phone_

_You know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone_

* * *

 Missy was lounging on the sofa in her apartment, lights down and some random television program playing quietly in the background, when her phone started ringing from across the room. At first she didn’t even recognize the sound. It was her favorite song, but she just figured sometimes it would play in her head for her own personal enjoyment. As it went on, though, she recognized a voice. A voice she hadn’t heard in...three weeks, two days, and seventeen hours now. A voice she did not want to hear, not at all.

Hearing the repetitive sound took her right back to when she had recorded the ringtone. His voice cut in, warm and low and bordering on a chuckle, replacing each “Mickey” with her name. She could remember lying with her head in his lap and feeling the ripples through his body when he laughed. It was ridiculous, really. She couldn’t remember whether or not they had been drinking when they did it, but that wasn’t the kind of thing he ever did sober, with her. He pretended to be all serious on the outside, and she was one of the few people who got to see his goofy personality let loose.

For a while, that is. But it seemed that the longer they knew each other, the more reluctant he was to open up to her. They must have been drunk, she decided. Nowadays, she had alcohol to thank for any memories they made together. He grew more and more wary of her every time he sobered up and realized he’d fallen asleep in her arms. Moments like the ringtone recording were hard to come by, so Missy treasured them even more.

The song stopped abruptly. Missy had forgotten that phone calls get redirected to messages after a few rings, and she cursed. Not that she was going to answer it, but now she didn’t have the choice. She rushed across the room to the windowsill, where her phone was plugged in and charging, and unlocked it to find the message had just finished recording. The most recent of—she counts them quickly—eleven. All from the same number. She’d taken it out of her contacts, but it didn’t matter. She knew the sequence by heart.

Missy’s hand shook as her thumb hovered over the message. She knew she shouldn’t listen. She’d done a pretty good job of blocking him out of her mind for the past few weeks—no, that was a lie, she’d done a rubbish job, but at least she’d tried. Clicking on the message would be an admission that she missed him, that she wanted him back in her life, when she’d spent so much effort convincing herself that she didn’t. Hearing his voice would open the floodgates for all the emotions she’d buried deep inside her. And then how was she supposed to get over him?

The screen flicked to black, making up her mind for her. “Dammit,” she muttered. The damn phone had trouble holding a charge ever since the time she threw it at a wall in a moment of anger. He had told her it was probably just the screen that was broken, and she had hoped that too. But, like most things, the damage went deeper. Missy ran her finger over the cracks in the glass. A callus was building up on the pad of her fingertip from skimming over them so much. She had built up a tolerance now, so much that she could barely feel the fractures, but she still knew they were there. Fissures breaking the screen into a work of stained glass. Stained.

She unplugged and her phone and plugged it in again several times before it came back to life. It was still at the stage where it was charging, but not charged enough that it allowed her to use it. She was stuck staring at the empty battery icon with the little lightning bolt telling her that it was, in fact, gaining power, even though it didn’t look like it was. She slumped down against the wall, banging her tailbone against the hard tile floor, and resigned herself to waiting. She kept telling herself that she wouldn’t listen to the messages, but she couldn’t bring herself to walk away.

Maybe she was just waiting to unlock her phone and delete them all. Yes, that was it. Nothing else.

He didn’t call her very often, before. He was one of the only people who had her phone number; she usually scared everyone else off before they got to that stage. But still, phone calls were a pleasantry in which the two of them didn’t often indulge. It was more like him to just show up at her door, and she would let him in no matter what. They would sit on her couch and she would order takeout, and they would watch TV or play board games or reminisce about the stupid things they did as teenagers. Every time he came by, no matter how long it had been, they feel right back into step. It made her sick to her stomach to think about how easy it had been. He was her best friend.

Her best friend didn’t need to call her. There was no reason to. He had plenty of other friends—yes, he did call them that—who he could turn to in a time of need. She had no one. All those people that she scared off before she could give them her phone number were people that maybe, in another life, she could have relied on. They could be a shoulder to cry on. After all, Missy was only just learning how to cry.

Generally, when things went bad with her, he would run away to his other friends like they could replace the hole she left in his heart. Well maybe, for him, they could.

But Missy couldn’t fool herself. Even if she had a million friends, they couldn’t replace him. She knew that even if she would never dare tell him. He was...special? Different? The same? Something. She decided it was better to have no friends at all. At least then she couldn’t trick herself into thinking she would ever feel whole without him.

Her phone screen lit up again, illuminating the dark room for a split second. Missy seized on the opportunity and unlocked the phone, clicking on the first message before she could think twice.

 _“Heyyy, Koschei,”_ his voice drawled through the phone. Missy’s heart jumped, and she bit her lip. _“I’m on the most beautiful tropical island right now. I’m at the beach and herds of sea ponies run by every five minutes. It’s marvelous. I...I hope we can talk soon. Bye.”_ He trailed off at the end, unsure of how to end the message. Typical of him. He would always start out having something great to say, but half the time he’d lose the thought halfway through.

Missy deleted the message and moved on to the next one. She pretended not to care if he had thought of her specifically because he remembered her affinity for ponies. It was easier to think he’d just gotten lonely and was looking for someone, anyone, he could ramble to.

The next message was much the same. _“Koschei. It’s me. The sunset here is...breathtaking. We should see it together sometime, I think. Call me. Please.”_ That one (and the next three) were full of the sweet nothings he would always say to her. Big plans for faraway places they could experience together someday, hand in hand. It was like he’d completely forgotten that things were different between them now.

 _You idiot,_ Missy thought. _Don’t you remember that we decided to spend time apart? That it would be “better for both of us”?_ He didn’t like to make it easy when he said goodbye.

The sixth message had a slightly different quality to it. _“Koscheiii. Wh...where have you been? It’s been...kind of- kin- uh, lonely here without you. No, really lonely, ac-tu-al-ly.”_ He swirled each syllable of the long word around his mouth, tasting it to make sure it was correct before spitting it out. Without him even being here, Missy could practically smell the whiskey wafting off his breath as he slurred, and she grimaced. _“So lonely I’ve- I’ve started_ talking _to the potted plant_ in _my study. How ‘bout that? Call me. We should talk, jus’ like old times.”_

Missy wanted to put down the phone after listening to that one, but she didn’t. Her eyes stung with unwelcome tears. This wasn’t like him. Drink wasn’t a coping mechanism of his. _Why isn’t he with his damn friends?_ she wondered. _Is this what happens when he’s sunk further than I’ve ever known him to sink?_

_Is he feeling the same as me?_

With each progressive message, he got a little more drunk and a little more unintelligible. She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, but it was pretty clear that he was hurting. Hurting and alone. Sure, she had purposely caused him a great deal of pain before, but this was different. When she hurt him, she did it so he could learn to see the world like she did, understand her a little bit better. What was he learning from this?

Just before she could click on the last message, her phone rang again. It was him, of course. Who else? _Don’t answer don’t answer don’t answer,_ her better judgment implored her.

Missy was never one to listen to her better judgment.

She hit the green button and raised the phone to her ear. “Oh, Theta, you idiot…”


End file.
